


I'm always in this twilight

by miss_sofia



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2018-09-16 01:24:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9267494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_sofia/pseuds/miss_sofia
Summary: our friends say it's darkest before the sun rises / we're pretty sure they're all wrong / i hope it stays dark forever / i hope the worst isn't over / i hope you blink before i do / and i hope i never get sober.





	

He wakes from restless nights, memories and dreams tangled in a drunken haze, one hand on the neck of a bottle and the other on the trigger of a gun. His first instict is to hold his breath and shoot, the feeling in his gut keeping him alert, but he composes himself in time, lets the bottle fall and shatter, rests the gun on the mattress.  
  
Sam's bed is empty, and he jumps from his own, grabs the gun back, heart pounding until he sees the note.  
  
_Getting coffee. Brb. -S_  
  
Once again, he controls his breathing, sits down at the edge of the bed, remembers to put the gun down before rubbing his eyes. The room is cold and empty, and later he will hit the road and it will also be cold and empty, and a small voice in his brain says "maybe _you_ are cold and empty".  
  
He rummages through his stuff, finds a bottle of nondescript licquor, takes a swig to wash away the knot in his chest, barely registers the burn. There's light coming through the blinds, dawn creeping its way into the room, white stripes on the carpet, but it doesn't feel like saving at all, and Dean closes his eyes, shuts them tight, tries to hide back into the darkness of his mind. It's not fair for the world to be so light when there's a black hole inside of him sucking everything else, begging for another drink and another sob and another tear.  
  
That's how Sam finds him, fist curled around a nearly empty bottle — hands so tense that he can see the veins pulsing —, sitting half-naked on the floor with the head propped on the bed, face crunched up with a decisive insistence on keeping his eyes shut. Dean hears him entering the room but doesn't move, doesn't even flinch, can't bring himself to see the worry and the frustration in his brother's face. He can hear Sam letting out a sigh, walking towards the small table by the window, putting down what's probably breakfast.  
  
"Hey, Dean? Whenever you're ready, I brought you pie."  
  
He lets his face relax a bit, a ghost of a smile passing through his lips. _Maybe this night will end soon._

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted in 2012 @lj.


End file.
